


The Name-tag Reads: "Hello, I'm a Royal Fuck-up"

by Le_kunokimchi



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves Friendship, Gen, Immortal Klaus Hargreeves, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 02, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, The Umbrella Academy (TV) Season 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26476384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_kunokimchi/pseuds/Le_kunokimchi
Summary: “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”The voice makes him freeze; he knew that voice, he knew it like the ocean knew sand. He never thought of this possibility, it was very stupid of him for not.“I could ask you the same thing,” he mumbles, refusing to face the man behind him.A bitter, humorless snort is heard and Klaus flinches subtly. “That’s rich,” Ben says, “coming from the person who stopped me from being here seventeen years ago.”The medium slumps in on himself a little; he was still mad, Ben was still mad… Why are they always fighting? Where did they go wrong?“You could have gone back anytime; it’s not my fault you were scared,” he mutters bleakly.“Yeah, right, because you didn’t need me? It’s apparent you couldn’t even make it a full day without me.”(Or the one where Ben and Klaus reunite in an unexpected way and talk about their differences. An apology was long overdue and third chance's the charm, he supposes.)
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves & God, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz (mentioned)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 239





	The Name-tag Reads: "Hello, I'm a Royal Fuck-up"

**Author's Note:**

> So... this drabble came to me randomly and stopped everything I was doing to write it. Ben and Klaus have such a wholesome brotherly relationship and it makes me so sad that they never got a chance to make up after all the shit they did to each other in season two.  
> This fixes that with an unplanned reunion, but warning you now, it gets really sad before it gets happy:)
> 
> ~Enjoy!

He’s not really sure what to do about it: about that bone-deep itch that was screaming that this is all sorts of wrong. They shouldn’t be here; these  _ people  _ shouldn’t be here. This  _ thing  _ with his brother’s face but not really his brother  _ shouldn’t  _ be here. There’s pain blooming in his chest: a dull ache that’s making his breaths come out a little more ragged, a little more forceful. He doesn’t want to do a new life  _ again _ ; he doesn’t want to just  _ exist  _ in another timeline. He’s done with second chances and do-overs; he’s done with being here but  _ not really  _ here. He’s done with going through the motions of  _ living  _ and  _ existing.  _ He’s done, he’s done, he’s done. 

He doesn’t even  _ want  _ to begin; words catch in his throat. Why can’t something just go his way for once? Why does he always  _ lose _ ? He gains something but loses double after that; and so if he doesn’t even  _ try  _ to gain something, he can’t possibly  _ lose  _ anything, right? 

He doesn’t have to try anything.

What is there to gain? He has already lost everything dear to him,  _ everyone _ dear to him. His family’s here and that’s swell and all but for how much longer? Who’s to say they won’t get right back to their regular  _ shitty  _ lives in this timeline? Who’s to say that they won’t take their third do-over and run with it, never to look back at him struggling at the starting line? Who’s to say that anyone gives a fuck that he’s  _ here,  _ that he’s with  _ them _ ; there isn’t one person in this timeline that would notice if he disappeared for a while, is there? No. Everyone that either  _ had  _ to care about his existence or the small few who  _ valued  _ it were gone. 

He’s numb emotionally, yet the itch keeps growing. Now the question is: what is he going to do about it?

Timeline number one offered him drugs as a solution, but he can’t go back into that old habit; no, then his whole family would at least have an excuse to cast him aside like a ratty, worn-out garment that would add absolutely nothing to their look and so, therefore, wasn’t worth space or attention. They kind of dismiss him anyways but when they did it because of the drugs, it made a small part of him (the child who was scared of the dark and just wanted a hand to hold and hear whispers that everything was going to be alright, the teen who wanted a family to lean on with all the pain and grief they were going through ) desire to get better  _ for  _ them,  _ for  _ their affection once again. 

He knows now that he cannot rekindle what was never there. Because while Vanya had an opportunity to begin painting friendships and memories upon a blank canvas that no one ever really got to  _ know  _ to therefore  _ not  _ like her, they all knew him. They all knew him quite well; he wanted them too, he hoped that maybe if they got to know him better, they’d be closer. But no, they just didn’t like him. Well, maybe Ben did at one point,  _ very  _ long ago. But he was never the likable type and when you are a walking flame of self-destruction and narcissistic pity, you tend to burn bridges no matter the path you take. He has kind of screwed himself over with _ everyone.  _ But he can’t really blame them because, yeah, he is a selfish and worthless piece of shit. He took advantage of people, he used people; at first, for survival and then simply because he wanted to and couldn’t stop. Old habits die hard, sue him.

Timeline number two offered him the endless devotion of naive followers (attention he once thought he craved and needed. Turns out, it wasn’t just  _ any  _ attention he wanted. His heart and mind were specific about the kind that would satisfy them. The cult didn’t fall under that kind) but people here weren’t as easily swindled by legendary song lyrics and godly good looks, nor did he want that kind of endless pampering and blind-obsession. He didn’t want pushovers, he didn’t  _ need  _ pushovers; any relationship that shows any sort of importance in his mind was one built on tough love and brutal honesty. He  _ needs  _ people to call him out on his bullshit, he  _ needs  _ people to help guide him on the right path even if he didn’t want to listen. And he never  _ listens  _ but he wouldn’t complain when it turns to shit and they get a free pass of  _ ‘I told you so’. _

The silence was nice, alone time was nice as long as it happened on  _ his  _ terms. He has spent his  _ entire  _ life being surrounded by people that he couldn’t get to leave, people that were too stubborn (or scared, as he found out as of recently) to leave him alone. And now, for the first time, he is alone; he is absolutely,  _ blaringly,  _ alone. And although there are people around him, his  _ siblings  _ around him; they are not really  _ there _ , they are merely just occupying the same space as him. And isn’t that just  _ awful _ ? At least Ben  _ needed  _ him to do literally anything; these people have done just fine without him. His presence being there does not affect them either way. 

Timeline three offers a fresh start that he decides he abhorrently  _ doesn’t  _ want. No more. He’s done. No more chances; why must he keep getting  _ chances _ ? Nobody deserves them less than he. 

The thing about a screw-up is that once you are labeled such, nothing you do will ever have the same value as it did before; everybody sees the giant-ass name-tag written in red bold letters across your forehead and automatically feels the unbridled desire to downgrade any sort of achievement you’ve ever made. They look for the flaws, they look for the detail that dampens the achievement to… what? Make them feel better about themselves?  _ If the screw-up accomplished more than them, then something just can’t be right about it; if the screw-up hasn’t used drugs for more than two years (a personal record since he was twelve because he didn’t know of the wonders narcotics could do quite yet), then it’s because he’s a drunkard now that uses his cult as a bunch of sex-slaves, right? Surely not because he has grown better with his powers, surely not because he wanted to make his family  _ proud _ of  _ him. 

Screw-ups don’t get better; they  _ just  _ screw-up. They gain something and lose another two because that’s just what they  _ do.  _ They don't have feelings of regret or remorse, they don't have feelings of self-hatred with every mistake they make; they love the look of disappointment and annoyance that crosses every single face when their presence is made known, they love the feeling that their existence just ruined somebody’s, or a lot of bodies, day. That’s what they live for, that’s why  _ they will always be alone _ .

That’s why a third chance is what a screw-up will take because  _ they don’t care  _ about the outcome. But Klaus isn’t a screw-up: he’s a royal fuck-up and that kind of person should know when they should take matters into their own hands and call it quits.

But you cannot simply  _ quit:  _ it’s a  _ lifestyle _ . And since he can’t merely adjust a style he has had for all thirty-one-ish years of living (it’s been engraved deeper than his bones, into his very soul for every mortal and non-mortal to catch a glimpse of when he opens his stinging nettle-colored eyes. Muscle memory makes him react in the wrong sense without fail, the habit to open his mouth and say the wrong thing overpowers every other desire to be a decent human being), he’ll just have to be a lazy fuck-up one last time and remove the other part of the equation:  _ life.  _ At least if it’s a deathstyle, no one can be affected except him. 

And just like that, the decision is finalized: he’s done. The delicious part of the meal has been over; the decadent turkey and to-die-for potatoes have been wiped clean from his dust-collecting plate for a long time. All that remains is gravy. And what good is gravy if you’ve got nothing tasty left to pour it over?

He said he would never do another mission for as long as he lives, but here he is: on a mission. A mission to end it all; it is no longer worth his time. He’s already preparing the argument in his head for when God inevitably asks him to leave; he’s already noting ever wrong, stupid, and hurtful thing he has done that makes him not good enough to return. If he’s lucky, she’ll listen; if he’s not, well, maybe he can convince Dave to forgive him. 

He sits in the attic for a long time thinking about the best way to do it; about the best way to get it over with without any interruptions. He likes pain and all, but something slow only raises the risk of him getting caught.

His family is all arguing around him, about what to do with Reginald and The Sparrow Academy, about how they’re supposed to exist in a universe they  _ already  _ exist in, about why that  _ thing  _ looks like Ben, about how they screwed-up and lost everything and somehow it’s  _ Five’s  _ fault. How ironic that every time he saves them, he fucks them over too. Maybe they’re all screw-ups now, maybe they need that scapegoat to fall back upon because they don’t plan to sign their name-tags quite yet. This family is dysfunctional but there was even more dysfunctional-ness within particular individuals. It’s always a pain-comparison and trauma gauge between them, after all. 

He has a solution: he’ll walk into town and jump off a building. His family will think he went to go get drugs and not bother looking for him, any good samaritan that finds his crippled body will most likely call the police/ambulance who will just label him some good-for-nothing John Doe over the name-tag with invisible ink and then he’ll be forgotten and disposed of, never to see the light of day again. 

The itching continues as they shout and snap and growl, the itching continues as they all storm off to their separate ways, the itching continues as he goes straight out the front door without another word, the itching continues as nobody bothers to stop him.

Not a tear comes as he meanders down the street in search of a tall building, no tears come as he enters through an unfamiliar door and takes an unfamiliar staircase (because he was so  _ over  _ elevators) to an unfamiliar roof containing the sight of a very familiar city. There’s a busy street to his left, another building close to his right, and a shady alleyway directly in front of him. He shrugs and takes the alleyway (he has come full circle now: timeline one started out at that putrid house and ended with him in a Dallas alley, now timeline three just needs to end the same). 

He teeters on the edge for a few moments, feeling like there was something important he should say; some sentimental words or pleads to humanity to grant him forgiveness, maybe even a tearful goodbye or two. But nothing comes to him except that reminding itch so he decides to pick at the scab covering each and every break in his heart until he’s satisfied with the amount of dreadful emotions bottled up and threatening to spill, and then he falls (it will be good argument material). 

* * *

  
  


There really is a sense of home when he wakes up in that monochrome world that he just can’t seem to shake; maybe it’s because that’s where the dead are supposed to go, maybe it’s because he has never felt an intuition of belonging where the living, breathing people dwell. Of course, the little brat says he doesn’t belong  _ here  _ either but he has always been very persuasive (borderline manipulative). 

“Klaus Hargreeves,” she says in a voice much older and wiser than any man could have ever known, a voice that reveals that her appearance is merely a deception attempting to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Normally, he’d have a lame quip ready to fire, a joke to crack that would only work to infuriate her; but now, he just stares at her vacantly, lifelessly (literally), with no desire for such screw-up-typical pleasantries. “Are you going to let me stay this time?” he questions curtly, his energy-sucking gaze unwavering and body too relaxed for her liking.

Her expression hardens. “You already know my answer.”

He rolls his eyes, his fingers mindlessly playing with a low-hanging limb of a tree. “Yeah, I do, but I would like to know  _ why _ . I’ve only been here one other time, surely I haven’t overstayed my welcome  _ already _ -”

“I don’t like you,” she replies plainly, “You Hargreeves cause nothing but trouble.”

He drops the leaf, a frown tugging on his lips, “Then why let Ben stay? Is he truly better company than me?”

“No,” her brow pinches in irritation, “But one of you here is enough.”

His eyes twinkle with mischief, “Then why not keep me here and send him back? My dear, beloved, brother had always wanted to be alive again, after all.”

“You know exactly why.” Her eyes peer at him with a vague sense of pity, very  _ minuscule  _ pity, but it’s there under the many layers of apathetic hollowness. 

He sighs. “And Dave, is he..?”

“Yes.”

“And can I-”

“I don’t think he’d want you to,” he looks at her imploringly for a further explanation. “Being replaced by the Sparrow Academy isn’t the only change you’ve made in the timeline; he only knows the crazy prophet that predicted his death, not the man he should have met a few years later.”

Klaus blinks.  _ Well, this changes things.  _ “So… he probably blames me for his-”

“Yes.”

“And showing up might get me punched aga-”

“Yes.”

“But, I could at least… apologize or something, right?”

She fixes him with a hard stare; he studies the bark of the tree to hide his hopefulness. 

She relents. “I suppose. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He looks up at her in surprise, his mouth open and poorly hiding the sudden upturn of his lips. He asks eagerly, “You’re really going to let me go talk to him?”

“If you can find him,” she replies, "The dead can only be found if they want to be."

“So the last time-”

“Your father wasn’t going to take no for an answer; he wanted you to find him, he wasn’t going to let you leave until you did.”

He eyes her incredulously.

“What?” She snaps, “I can’t stand him either so I just gave him what he wanted.”

He can’t seem to disagree with that being the easiest method to shut him up, but one thought remains on his mind. “Is the Reginald from my timeline… Is he here?”

“Technically, his conscious is; a version of him. It’s complicated and I don’t feel like explaining. You better start your manhunt now, I can’t promise you’ll be here much longer.”

“Thanks,” he breathes as a giddy simper breaks out across his face.

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet…” God mumbled, watching the medium’s back as he darted down the bike path.

* * *

  
  
The last time he was here, he felt a pull in the direction he was meant to go. There was just something right about each step he took, the path leading and ending with God’s destination in mind. He wasn’t sure if she had a destination for this one, he wasn’t sure if she was sending him on a wild goose chase; he wouldn’t be surprised if she did, she seemed like the sadistic type. 

It felt like his eternal compass was broken and he found himself wandering aimlessly through the forest. Where would Dave be? In a tent? A treehouse? What would he look like? What would he be wearing? The path ends at a lake and he feels stumped. There are no other paths in sight and the lake appears to be deserted. There were slight ripples coming from the water, which the man felt was strange and not typically something a lake should  _ do,  _ but he was too preoccupied to consider it for a second longer. 

He hears a noise coming from behind him and, for a brief moment, he thinks it's her bike. But as it gets louder and closer, he realizes that it is footsteps. Is she walking over here to berate him? To rub it in his face? Has his “father” found him instead? Has Dave?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

The voice makes him freeze; he knew that voice, he knew it like the ocean knew sand. He never thought of this possibility, it was very stupid of him for not. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mumbles, refusing to face the man behind him.

A bitter, humorless snort is heard and Klaus flinches subtly. “That’s rich,” Ben says, “coming from the person who stopped me from being here seventeen years ago.”

The medium slumps in on himself a little; he was still mad, Ben was still mad… Why are they always fighting? Where did they go wrong?

“You could have gone back anytime; it’s not my fault you were scared,” he mutters bleakly.

“Yeah, right, because you didn’t need me? It’s apparent you couldn’t even make it a full day without me.”

He blatantly flinches this time. He never has the right thing to say; all he does is escalate the tension… Why? Because he’s too stuck on himself to apologize? Because he never once thought about how Ben felt? Because he never once cared that Ben had people around him, his  _ siblings  _ around him yet they are not really  _ there _ , they are merely just occupying the same space as him. 

Klaus Hargreeves: the royal fuck up.

He turns around, pain in his eyes. “I missed you.” An olive branch.

Ben sneers. “Because I wasn’t there to hold your hand? To bail you out?” he rolls his eyes, “Who did it, huh? A robber? Time-traveling assassin? Bad dealer? Diego for lying to everyone?”

The pain twists to a deep anguish. 

Ben’s face falls, his eyes wide and his once crossed arms now hanging limply at his side. “No… Tell me you didn’t…”

The medium looks down at his feet. “I missed you because you never know how good you have it until it’s gone.” He huffs a dry and sad laugh. “I treated you like shit, I really did. I just… I guess I was afraid too, you know.”

The man’s brow furrows in confusion. “Of what?”

“Of losing you. I wanted you all to myself, I wanted to feel useful and needed but if they knew you were there, I’d just become a messenger. It’d be a spooky game of telephone at that point.”

“Well it wasn’t your decision to make; I am not an object that you can play keep away with, Klaus. _Don’t you know how much_ _I_ _missed them?_ ”

Klaus shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, yes… I’m a selfish, narcissistic, self-absorbed, good-for-nothing- whatever else you want to call me- asshole. But I was upset with you about the whole bar thing and then with Dave… And when they asked if you were there, I just wanted to get back at you because I’m petty and stupid.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed; he was always good at holding a grudge. But, he supposes, the dead really have nothing better to do. “Well, you could have told them after all of that and you still didn’t.

“You… possessed me; you stole my body at dinner and didn’t even care that they all thought I was doing drugs again,” he defends weakly.

“You wouldn’t tell them I was at the table-!”

This upset the medium further with the raw cracks in his heart, the cracks he opened up but now wished they never existed because his brother was pouring lemon juice straight into them. They burn, they sting; he wants to dismiss the problem. He wants to sweep it under the rug. But now he knows that Ben has been waiting for him; God wasn’t going to let him speak to Dave, she tricked him into confronting his brother. She duped him again; he should know better than to trust her by now.

But, perhaps, he wanted to be found. Perhaps, he had some stuff to get off his chest too.

“You threatened to become my sleep paralysis demon,” he hissed, his hands clenching, “And borrowed my body, broke the rules we agreed on, and then refused to give it back! You betrayed me, you took advantage of my trust; you of all people should know how important consent is to me!”

“And you of all people should know how much it hurts when your siblings ignore you!” Ben shouts, his voice watery and strained like he was on the verge of tears (the realization makes Klaus hate himself even more), “I was there, I was  _ always  _ there and when they finally believed it, you dismissed me. You, the only person I could ever talk to,  _ always  _ dismissed me. My feelings never mattered because I was  _ dead _ ; well being dead doesn’t make me any less  _ human. _ ”

And at that, Klaus deflates and crumbles onto the ground, his head buried in his hands. He pictures the little boy, his best friend, his brother… curled up next to him in bed sobbing that he’s a monster, that he should just ‘run away before he hurts someone’, that Klaus should ‘keep his distance because the Horror is dangerous to  _ everyone _ ’. But Klaus never moved, never ran, never hid, because Ben wasn’t a monster, he never will be a monster; he was human, he was more human than any of them and he had been dead for seventeen years. 

Ben is his brother; how could he dismiss his own brother?

“I’m sorry, okay?” Klaus mumbles, trying to smother his tears with tattooed palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Ben’s voice is barely more than a mumble, but the man hears him say, “It’s a little too late for an apology.”

“I know,” he sniffles; he feels so weak and pathetic. A mess at Ben’s feet, as usual. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he just do one right thing? Why didn’t he say sorry as Ben was walking off to save Vanya? He just laid there: the coward’s way out.

“I fuck everything up; I haven’t done a single thing right. But… I’m glad that you got to talk and kiss Jill. I’m glad you got to hug Diego. I’m glad you got to reunite with Vanya. I’m glad that you got to use my body for something that  _ made you  _ happy, okay? At least I was good for something, right?”

“That sounds awfully self-deprecating-”

“For what it’s worth, I still love you,” at this Ben shuts up immediately, Klaus looks up at him with glassy eyes and sees him stiffen, “I’ve always loved you, even when you were annoying. You’re my favorite brother; always have, always will. Nothing you do will ever change that because I’m the problem here, I’m the mess-up, the screw-up, the fuck-up. And I’m not even decent enough to face my own mistakes: how do you think I got here?”

Ben kneels down in front of him, gently grabbing his arms to hoist him upwards. The medium opens his mouth to speak but his brother shakes his head and mutters, “Shut up.”

The anger in Ben’s expression had vanished, being replaced by a look of melancholy and remorse. “We’ve… We’ve both made some mistakes. I’m sorry for taking advantage of you and for what it’s worth, I still love you too so… so don’t talk about yourself that way.”

They both just look at each other, tears in their eyes and awkward smiles on their faces. 

The medium releases a wet chuckle. “What a pair are we?”

“A gatekeeper of death and a portal to a bloodthirsty beast?”

“No, a prophet and a Backstreet Boys groupie.” 

They both laugh at that and it feels good, it feels right; lightness fills both of their eyes and for a moment, Klaus forgets that they were ever mad at each other, that those seventeen long, bitter, and spiteful years ever existed because this takes him back to the good days. It takes him back to when they were more than just brothers, they were best friends. 

And he wants it to last forever, but he sees the way Ben’s eyes lock onto the little flecks of Klaus’s skin that were drifting apart before disappearing to reveal a golden glow; he knows that their time is coming to an end.

And before he can even say anything, Ben’s arms wrap around him in a bear hug: strong, tight, assuring and so very Ben. The medium returns it just as desperately with a fresh wave of tears in his eyes; oh how he missed this, longed for this. Why did they never hug? Why was everything always a brawl?

“Guess it isn’t gonna stick, huh?” he joked softly, Ben’s hoodie tickling his nose.

“Good riddance; you would have found a way to wreck the place in less than an hour,” his brother teased back, his tightening grip revealing that perhaps he was sad to see him go.

“I-”

“Don’t come back, Klaus,” Ben whispers in his ear, “Not until you’re at least a hundred or looking like Dad.”

The medium scoffs good-naturedly but it’s slightly pained. “I’m offended that you think I would ever be that hideous.”

He is barely there now, feeling distantly the cold bumps of concrete and the pungent smell of asphalt tickling his nose. 

“There’s a doppelganger of you in this timeline,” he makes sure to add, “He’s a bit of a prick.”

Just as his hold on his brother’s jacket slips, he hears Ben quip, “I like him already.”

* * *

Klaus wakes up on the cold, smelly ground of the alleyway with a start, a bone-chilling shudder tearing through him and a sheen layer of sweat coating his skin. His hair feels sticky and matted, no doubt from drying blood, and there are a couple of bruises dotting his arms and legs. He expected worse so this was a welcome surprise; although trying to stand proved to be difficult with the dull ache working its way along his stiff spine and shaky legs. The spinning in his head wasn’t too helpful either… but oh well. He has a place to go and people to see; perhaps a new Ben to make fun of.

Third timeline’s the charm because if he can’t live for himself, he’ll live for Ben. He supposes that even royal fuck-ups like him can deserve a third chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I know its descriptions were quite a mouthful.  
> Hope you liked it and as always, don't be hesitant to leave some feedback<3


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